


Grey Dawn

by TheShantorian



Series: The Daylight Cycle [2]
Category: SHINee
Genre: Angst, Horror, Murder, Mystery, Other, also i'm sorry for the suffering, blue night sequel, but i am, not really tho, one character will die, so death is here again, theres implied sexy times, this is just a big bucket of pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-11-15 01:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11220642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShantorian/pseuds/TheShantorian
Summary: It's been one year since Lee Jinki lost everything that mattered to him. Caught in a waking memory, he tracks down the single loose end tying him to that night, trying to put it all behind him, once and for all.





	1. Skeleton Flower

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Blue Night, a SHINee horror movie AU fic inspired by a thread on twitter by @vocalisthyun. This wouldn't have been a thing if not for her.

Chapter 1: Skeleton Flower

Light was a luxury Lee Jinki did not have anymore. He traded it in for a murky dimness, a place between brightness and the dark. It distanced him from what the light was attached to, what being in it forced him to feel.  

The dark was no different. He couldn’t be in complete darkness without hearing the sound of heavy footfalls against wooden floorboards and the screams of his best friend echoing in his mind.

It had been one year since that night, the night where he lost everything.  

His friends had been taken out of jealousy, out of the inability for someone he thought he knew to trust in him and the others. He lost four friends, and shattered a part of himself that he had been unable to repair. 

It was one thing to witness death, but to take a life was a different thing entirely.  

The funerals had came and went before he could truly understand that they’d happened. At each one, he’d been asked to speak, since he’d been there when they’d died. 

He didn’t go to Jonghyun’s. He should have, and he wanted to, but he couldn’t, not so soon after it’d happened. He couldn’t sit in a room full of people who knew what Jonghyun had done, yet spoke about him like he was a victim.  

In a way, he was. Jonghyun shouldn’t have felt like he had to do what he did. Jonghyun shouldn’t have died. None of them should have, but the moment he decided to go forward with his actions was the moment he sealed his fate, and Jinki was tired of feeling responsible for it.

Everything that had happened what out of his control. The police knew that what Jinki had told them about Jonghyun was true. With the footage on Jonghyun’s camera and the DNA of Kibum, Minho, and Taemin in his clothing, the law was firm in its stance. Jinki had merely been a bystander, someone who was simply surviving that night, a witness to a horrible tragedy.  

Jonghyun was guilty. Jonghyun was a murderer. 

Jonghyun was a thief, a man who stole lives, who stole souls, the most valuable thing a person had.  

And yet Jinki felt as guilty as Jonghyun was proven to be. 

And so he ran.

A week after the last funeral, Kibum’s, or maybe it was two weeks… He couldn’t remember. After some time had passed, his girlfriend, someone he’d been seeing for almost two years, broke things off with him. She said he was too broken, too damaged for her to handle. She said she needed a man to keep her strong, not the other way around. She didn’t want him or his baggage, and unless he moved on, she’d leave. Even if she hadn’t left him, a part of him knew he would’ve ended the relationship himself. He didn’t trust himself to support another person, to invest in someone emotionally when he couldn’t feel anything at all. He could barely keep himself together under the influence of a serious amount of alcohol, much less when he was sober. He wasn’t cut out to care for another, not when he wasn't able to care for himself.

In the end, she’d been right, and in the end, she left. There wasn’t enough of him left intact to properly process what had happened, but he understood then, just how truly alone in the world he was.

He was beyond repair, too attached to that night, and he knew it. In body he was present, but his mind, and the parts of him that mattered, were kneeling on a gravel pathway, next to the body of one of his best friends. 

With nothing tying him to the heart of the city, the place where the five friends had called home while they were together, he left. He drove out into the far reaches of the area, somewhere people looked the other way, leaving each other to their own business.

He ended up in a run down network of old, tightly packed bungalows and apartment complexes. It was one of many single story dwellings in a neighborhood cramped and overflowing with people who pretended that the rest of the homes didn’t exist. The small alleys between each residence were also occupied, if not by the homeless, then with drifters. 

There was always noise in his neighborhood, and he needed it. Silence was another luxury he could no longer afford. In the quiet, Jinki heard Kibum’s voice, whispering his name. In the quiet, Jinki didn’t hear himself answer back, and the absence of that sound, of his own voice, pulled him into a deep pit of regret, of aching for the chance to go back and change everything.

The inside of the bungalow was as colourless as the world outside. The walls were stained with residues the previous residents had left behind, the tile flooring cracked in places. There wasn’t a bed or a real table, just a pull-out sofa and a small shelf, turned on its side. The windows had curtains that were always drawn, the light that managed to filter through it hazy and yellow. Empty beer bottles coated almost all surfaces in the house, the trashcan overflowing with takeout containers and used kleenex. It smelled and felt as empty as the man who sat on the sofa, his eyes open but unseeing. 

The TV was on but the sound it made and light it produced were just filler for Jinki. He was waiting, listening for the newscaster to talk about something in particular, something he knew would be talked about. Leaning back onto the sofa, his arms limp at his sides, his head lolling back over the top of the seat, he tapped his pen against his thigh, drumming his fingers against the notepad that was resting on the seat beside him. He craned his head back farther, so that he could almost see the wall behind him.

Though mostly bare, one wall, the one opposite the TV, behind the sofa, was fully obscured. Taped and pinned across it were photos and newspaper clippings. Some of the photos had been developed from Jonghyun’s camera, some were screenshots of his videos. A few of the articles had been printed from the internet, while most were taken from hard copies of the papers. Small notes written in red and black ink littered the expanse of documents, sticky notes placed here and there where the text wouldn’t fit.

At the centre of that wall was a small card with “Miss me?” printed in the middle.

It’d been just over three months since he’d gotten the card, and within that first month, while watching the news to kill time, he’d figured out who’d sent it, though he didn’t understand why.

There’d been stories every few weeks, always talked about after the weekend had passed. The reports were of a series of murders, possibly linked, since the deaths occurred at the same time on the same day every: in the early hours just after midnight following a Friday. 

The first victim, named Jane, died from having her throat slit. The second victim, Oscar, died a brutal, gruesome death, his body receiving over twenty stab wounds to the chest and face. The third victim was named Natalie. She was stabbed through the heart, the blade entering from behind her.  

Jinki recognized the pattern immediately.

He began to compile everything he knew about that night, about everyone involved, and came to realize that aside from him, only one other person had been there that night and survived. Only one other witness had yet to be located by the police.

Kim Haesol.

* * *

 

In a hotel room on the edge of a small town about an hour away from the city sat a man. 

The blinds on the windows were drawn shut, the door locked and barricaded with a chair from the small table in the room. The only light came the bathroom, through a crack from where he’d left the light on and hadn’t closed the door.

The room was silent, save for the sound of a soft voice, singing a hollow song about flowers that turned clear when it rained.

The song had belonged to his friend.

No. 

Not friend. 

Not. 

He was more. 

More than a friend. 

More than he could explain. 

Just more.

As he sang, his hands were busy cutting out a face from a photograph. 

That face belonged to a black hole. 

Taking and taking and taking and taking and now he was alone. 

He cut a black hole into the black hole. 

It looked like how it should.

He smiled, still singing, satisfied with his work.

He got onto his knees, leaning forward on the bed, towards the wall it was pushed against.

It became one of many black holes on the wall. Not all of them were cut. Some had been drawn, some had been scratched with a fork or torn with his hands.

Amongst them were photos of his Everything. 

His Everything who never knew how much of everything he was.

Kneeling on the bed, he gripped the sheets tightly, his fingers coiled around the fabric as if it’d disappear if he let go.

“He took you from me,” the man said, breaking his song for the first time that day.

“It’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fair!” 

He threw the pair of scissors he’d been using at the wall as his voice rose to a screech. He fell forward on the bed, half screaming, half breaking into sobs that wracked his whole body as he ripped at his hair.

He threw his head back, gasping, staring into the photographed eyes of a man who was no longer with him. 

“I’ll take from him until he can’t take it anymore and he takes himself away from me I will take his everything just like he took my Everything.” His strained voice grew softer until he was no longer speaking out loud. 

“You are my Everything, Jonghyun.”

* * *

Haesol was the only other person who knew why Jonghyun had resorted to murder as a remedy for his heartbreak. At this point, however, Jinki didn’t care for the reason anymore. He just wanted to move on, to let his memories rest, to allow himself to be himself again. After so much had been taken from him, by both Jonghyun and himself, he wanted to work towards building it all back, but Haesol forcing him to relive the losses week by week was having the opposite effect.

Jinki resolved to find Haesol, to somehow put an end to everything. He was just so exhausted by it all. He just wanted it to stop. He didn’t care if Haesol was arrested or was killed while getting into police custody. He just couldn’t do it anymore. He’d already fallen apart, but Haesol was preventing him from even having a chance at putting himself back together.

He did, however, want to know why Haesol was targeting him. Afterall, Haesol had just been an accomplice. Jonghyun had been the one who intended to kill someone that night. What was the purpose of sending Jinki a note? What did he mean by “miss me?” Why recreate the deaths? 

"In other news, police have released the details of the recent homicide of a 27-year-old male by the name of George Harris--”

Jinki’s head snapped up at the sound of the newscaster’s voice. This was it. This was what he’d been waiting for. 

“The victim’s body was found on a pathway at a local park on Saturday morning. Autopsy reports indicate that the cause of death was blood loss due to a single stab wound to the chest.”

Jinki blinked, and suddenly he was watching as blood dribbled out of Jonghyun’s mouth while he clutched at his bleeding chest.

He blinked again, and the vision vanished.

Shaking his head, Jinki uncapped his pen, propping the notepad in his lap as he jotted down the victim’s name.

Jane.

Oscar.

Natalie.

George.

Looking at the first letter of each of their names, Jinki’s heart stopped. 

J-O-N-G.

Without a doubt in his mind, Jinki knew he was looking for Haesol. He didn’t, however, know how he was going to begin to locate him. 

A sinking sense of hopelessness filled Jinki’s chest, forcing him back into the sofa.

Once again, he was reminded of just how solitary his life had become. Before, he’d used to crave it, being on his own, away from everything. Now, he wanted the opposite, but he knew it was something out of his grasp. Like the light, like the silence, Jinki had also been robbed of the luxury of love.


	2. Déjà-Boo

Chapter 2: Déjà-Boo

“Delivery! No signature needed! I’m just gonna leave it here…” 

The voice of the mailman faded as his footsteps retreated from outside the door. 

Jinki didn’t move from his place on the sofa right away. He hadn’t fully processed that someone had just been outside his door. He was fairly certain that nobody had this address, so to have a delivery was just… odd. 

Haesol. It had to be Haesol, whatever it was.

His brow creased in dread, Jinki wrenched himself from his seat, dragging his feet to the door.

Moments later, he was back on the sofa, tearing the seal of the small packing envelope open. He tipped it on its side, the contents spilling into his lap.

He froze, his breath hitching in his throat as his fingers released their hold on the envelope.

Resting on his thighs was a knife. Wide bladed and stained with dark, rusty patches, he felt his stomach folding in on itself as he became highly aware of its weight.  

The weight he felt wasn’t physical, but it was there. It pressed down upon him, rounding his spine, pulling him into the backrest of the sofa. His lungs stilled, his eyes clouding as his heartbeat boomed through his skull.

He blinked, and the knife was in his hand, his feet planted on a gravel pathway. 

Bathed in moonlight, Jinki watched Jonghyun desperately gripping his chest, trying to find purchase against his blood-soaked clothes. Jinki watched, his body growing empty in a different way than the man in front of him, as Jonghyun choked on his own blood, the red fluid appearing black in the dimness of the night. 

He remembered. He felt it more strongly with each breath he took in, and with each breath Jonghyun lost. 

Suddenly, Jonghyun was on the ground, unmoving, and Jinki was on his knees, the knife no longer in his hand. 

He remembered how hard it had been to puncture Jonghyun’s chest with the knife. There’d been a resistance he didn’t anticipate, forcing him to dig it in deeper and deeper until the blade was no longer visible. He buried the blade into his friend’s chest, and weeks later had been invited to Jonghyun’s burial. He felt himself slipping away the deeper the knife went, forgetting who he was but engraving the man he’d just doomed to death into his memories.

It was a fairly large bladed weapon, but it was meant for slicing vegetables, not taking a life. No knife was meant for such a purpose. It was the wielder that gave the weapon purpose, that made it into a weapon. He remembered thinking that he was tainted, that he tainted the knife the second he considered ending Jonghyun’s life with it, the corruption seeping into him the way Jonghyun’s blood seeped between the stones of the pathway. 

He knew he didn’t have any other choice. It was either him or Jonghyun. It was either him or justice. There was no real coming out of the situation alive, since so much of Jinki died that night. The bits of him that survived were threads, tangled and knotted together, feebly trying to maintain some semblance of control.

The agony of it all didn’t fully hit him until a minute or so had passed, after he’d directed his attention to the blue-black night sky above him. He remembered wondering which of the stars that pockmarked the almost obsidian expanse belonged to Jonghyun and Kibum and Minho and Taemin. He remembered thinking they’d become a cluster, a small group of light illuminating him, shining down on him as he felt the light inside himself dimming down to complete darkness.

He remembered falling forward onto his hands and knees, his arms giving way as his forehead fell against the ground. He remembered how the gravel felt as it dug into his forearms as heaving, soundless sobs tore through his lips, his face contorted in anguish. It was a pain like no other, something primal and raw that he couldn’t comprehend. It just hurt. It hurt too much, and there was nowhere for him to put the pain. It pressed him down into the gravel, his body shuddering violently as what remained of who he used to be shattered, raining down onto the stones, mixing with the blood of his best friend. 

He blinked again, and he was sitting on a creaky, patchy sofa, the TV across the room playing an infomercial on some sort of blender. The knife remained in his lap.  

Gingerly, he picked it up, placing it onto the makeshift table in front of him, his body no longer tense. All emotion had been leeched out of him and into the knife, draining him like he had made it drain Jonghyun.  

He stared at  it, the blade bouncing the light from the TV off onto the ceiling.  

How did it get like this? 

He wondered how it was possible for him to be where he was now, alone, a murderer, a shut in, living in a four walled prison he chose to confine himself to. He wondered how he’d come to be trapped with himself, with only fragments of feelings and memories he didn’t want for company.

His head lolled to the side, and he blinked.  

Again, he was transported elsewhere, many months before he’d even considered visiting the cabin again that year.

This time, he was in his old apartment. Located the fifth floor of an expensive high rise at the heart of the city, it was a nice, spacious flat. It had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen too big for his needs and a living area with enough space for another full sofa set. It was filled with mementos from his parents, and from his four best friends. It was the most at home he’d felt anywhere.

That particular night, in that particular memory, the apartment was dim with candlelight. Thick clouds spilled rain onto windows that faced the street, the sound soothing against the soft instrumental jazz he had playing from the small radio in the kitchen. 

The was alone that night, lounging on the sofa, trying to read. He’d been re-reading the same sentence for over five minutes, unable to fully comprehend what the words meant. He was about the give up when his call bell buzzed.

Throwing the book onto the small, round glass topped coffee table, he went to the door. 

Peering through the peephole, he saw Jonghyun, his hair matted down with rainwater, his thin, white t-shirt almost completely transparent. He was clutching a large box wrapped in a plastic bag to his chest as he bounced on his toes.

Jinki opened the door, surprise evident in his eyes. He hadn’t been expecting Jjong at all that night.

“Jjong?” Jinki inquired, opening the door. He stepped back, letting his friend inside. 

“Hey,” Jonghyun smiled at his friend, taking off his shoes as he handed Jinki the plastic bag. “I thought we could both use some company. It’s been like, what? Two weeks since we’ve hung out?”

Jinki unwrapped the bag from around the box, the smell of fresh pizza wafting out. He smiled, exhaling. “Yeah, it’s been too long.”

They spent that night finishing the pizza with a bottle of wine Jinki had been meaning to open. The hours flew by, the sound of the rain and the music masked by their laughter and voices.  

Jinki blinked, and he was back in his bungalow, the smell of the pizza in his mind fading with the echoes of Jonghyun’s laughter. 

His nostalgia leaked from his eyes in thin, warm streams, anger filling the space inside him instead.  

Before he was  even aware that he moved, he got to his feet, the knife in his hand. 

He let out a roar. His frustration, his rage with the unfairness of it all came tearing from his lips as he hurled the knife across the room.

It crashed into the wall, just to the left of the TV, clattering against the floor as it hit the ground. 

He had to get away.  

He couldn’t be in the bungalow for another second. His thoughts scratched at his psyche, his fingers pulling at his hair as his breathing grew laboured. Wheezing half-screams followed every exhale. He couldn’t do it anymore.

And so he ran. 

He ran to the door, unlocking it and slamming it shut as he kept running, his legs carrying him away from the place that was haunted by his regrets.

* * *

The street was dark, the sky empty. No moon. No stars. Only streetlights and shadows.

He crept down the sidewalk, his hands shoved into his pockets. The weight of a knife that belonged to his Everything pulled against the waistband of his jeans. 

He’d met Helen on the subway. 

Not really. 

He saw her name printed on her ID tag that she wore to work at the gas station just outside of town. 

He knew she wouldn’t leave until after midnight, and she did.

He knew she’d go down the street he was on, and she did. 

Helen walked slowly, many metres ahead of him.

He followed, knowing she would turn between two buildings soon. 

“Slow down, she’ll notice.”

He did, because his Everything was always right. 

He felt tugging. 

Soft. 

Gentle.  

An arm linked with his.  

He looked to his left, and his Everything was there. 

But he looked sad.  

“What’s wrong?” He asked, wanting to stop and touch Jonghyun’s cheek, but Jonghyun would only get mad.  

“I’m sorry to be making you do this…” Jonghyun stopped walking and so did he.  

He furrowed his brow, shaking his head. “No, no, no, no, I want to do this for you.” 

Jonghyun unlinked their arms, pulling his hands from his pockets. He watched in awe as Jonghyun took his hands in his.  

“If you hadn’t ruined everything that night, this wouldn’t even be happening,” Jonghyun crooned, squeezing his fingers.  

Something inside his chest started to hurt.  

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he cried, pulling their hands to his forehead. “I’m so sorry.”  

“Sorry can’t bring me back,” Jonghyun told him, bringing their hands back down, “but you can make this right.” 

He looked up at his Everything, his eyes burning.  

“I’ll kill him,” he vowed.  

Jonghyun smiled. “I know you will.” He glanced down the sidewalk. “Now hurry, before she makes it home.” 

He nodded, speeding down the street as he held onto Everything that mattered to him.

* * *

 

_ Two years ago _

Haesol tried to ignore the way Jonghyun smelled, how fresh and invited the scent was as they sat, side by side.

The TV was on with some reality show playing. Haesol wasn’t paying attention, not really. His eyes were directed at the TV screen, but it was his periphery that he was focused on. 

Jonghyun wasn’t watching TV either. The phone in his hand held his full attention.

Haesol knew he was texting. 

Texting Taemin. 

He didn’t let it get to him. Jonghyun didn’t see him as anything more than a friend, and he knew that Taemin had been getting closer with Minho. 

He could tell. 

He saw it in the way that Minho acted. I

n the way that Taemin acted. 

In the way that their actions mirrored his own. 

His eyes darted between the soft curve of Jonghyun’s upper lip and the TV. 

Between his slender, delicate fingers and the TV. 

Between his sharp jaw and the TV.

He wondered if he’ll ever have the courage to say something to Jonghyun. 

He knew he loved Jonghyun, more than he thought he was capable of, more than he could understand. It was a beyond words sort of thing that he didn’t want to come to terms with. He wanted it to consume him, and to consume Jonghyun. He wanted both of them to be tangled in a messy knot of connection, of closeness. 

If Jonghyun asked him to drive him somewhere, he’d drop anything to make it happen. If Jonghyun wanted to spend time together, nothing else mattered except doing so. If Jonghyun asked to kill for his affection, he wouldn’t hesitate. 

He wondered if Jonghyun would ever love him. He wondered if he even deserved such a thing.

* * *

Helen’s screams vibrated against the fingers of his hand that he’d pressed against her lips. Her cries were stifled. His heart was racing.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he yanked her head back, exposing her throat. 

He glanced up, making eye contact with his Everything. 

Jonghyun nodded slowly.  

He nodded in return, leaning down next to Helen’s cheek.  

He dragged the knife across her neck, slicing through skin and muscle and arteries. 

Just like before.

Just like Jonghyun did.

Blood rained down like the tears that had began to fall from his eyes. It coated his hands and the street he stood on. It painted the world in a red as violent as his desire to do anything, anything for his Everything.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, knowing only one person would hear it. “I love you so much.”  

“I love you so much.”

Arms draped around his shoulders.

“I love you so much.” 

Both the knife and Helen fell from his grasp as he placed his hands on the forearms around him. 

“I love you, too.” The voice was soothing in his ear, the breath hot on his skin.


	3. Crazy

Chapter 3: Crazy

The bar was packed. Bodies were pressed against each other, the voices overbearing, the music like an unending alarm, keeping Jinki on edge. 

There was almost not enough room for air to be present. The crowd suffocated one another, flirting, dancing, laughing, or just mindlessly tipping back glass after glass, like Jinki was. It reeked of everything. With the amount of people present, there wasn’t a scent that at least one person hadn’t dragged in. Be in vomit, sweat, cologne from a convenience store, or five day old cigarette smoke, it was there. 

Pervading through it all was the stench of alcohol. That one seeped off of Jinki and into the already clouded atmosphere. Not a breath was left untouched. 

He’d been sitting at the bar for about two hours, his head propped up by the fingers of his right hand, tangled in his unwashed hair. His left arm rested along the sticky wood of the bar counter, his index finger tapping against his almost empty glass. His back was hunched, his leg bouncing against one of the wooden rods near the bottom of the barstool he’d taken custody of.

He’d lost count of how many drinks he’d had after the forty minute mark. He’d been constantly switching his attention from the glinting of the runny, yellow lights against the displays of beverage bottles along the wall across from him, behind the bar, to the clock just above the server’s window that led to the kitchen.

Everything felt heavy. He hadn’t moved since he arrived, except for when he’d raise his arm and tilt his head back, pouring another mouthful of the liquid amnesia down his throat. 

It was working. He forgot why he’d gone to the bar that day anyway.

When he blinked, the darkness lingered for moments after. When he tried to lick the dryness of his lips away, he’d taste blood in his mouth, washing it down with another sip from his glass.  

It’d been about three weeks since he’d gotten the knife in the mail. It now lay embedded into the centre of the mind map that adorned his  wall, pinning the small card he’d found at Jonghyun’s grave in place.

 Haesol had been active. 

On the sofa, beneath a knit blanket that was beginning to fall apart, was his notepad. On it, three more names added below the four that had been there. They spelled J-O-N-G-H-Y-U.

It was Friday. It was almost two a.m.

The last N was about to be added. And there was nothing he could do about it, except wait, hoping to find a lead, to find some way of drawing Haesol out. He needed to confront him, but how? And what would he do? He knew he wanted it to end, but was he willing to take a person’s life for the second time?

What did ending it entail? Would he be willing to go through with whatever it took? And what if he was condemned for it?

The room did a 180 and suddenly he was seeing things upside down and in black and white. 

He groaned into his hand, his fingers trying to massage the sensation out of his forehead, shutting his eyes. 

As he did, a server carrying a tray with burgers walked by, the glasses on the platter clinking together as they moved, the scent of the sandwiches invading his nostrils.

And suddenly, he was elsewhere.

* * *

 

_ One year ago _

It was early evening, and the air was beginning to grow chilly as night approached. The sun wouldn’t set for many more hours, but they could feel the day coming to a close.

The forest was humming with the signs of wildlife: birds calling out to one another, louder than the cicadas, louder than the dull knocking of a woodpecker somewhere in the distance. The sound of the lakewater sloshing against the stony shoreline gave the illusion of being somewhere else, somewhere sandy and lined with palms rather than pines. 

Around a firepit lined with large stones were five friends who’d known each other for almost their entire lives, a screen of smoke and heat wafting up from in between them. Music played over the crackling of the burning wood, the song slow, sad, and calming.

Only Kibum actually sat by the fire, lounging on a deck chair he’d dragged from the back porch. His attention was on his phone, but he was having trouble focusing with the smell of Jinki’s barbeque permeating the area.

Jinki stood off to the left of the firepit, keeping an eye on the burgers he was cooking as he took a sip of the beer he’d been neglecting for an hour or so. When he wasn’t watching the almost ready meat, he found himself staring at the lake, taking in the way the sunlight rippled across its surface, glittering like a sea of a thousand stars. When everyone had finished eating and everything had been cleaned up, he decided to go sit by the dock and watch the sunset. He needed some time to himself anyway. 

In his periphery, just a tad louder than the music, Jinki heard the sound of laughter. He didn’t have to look over to know Minho and Taemin were up to something. He sighed, taking another sip of his beer as he turned back to the barbeque. 

They’d initially been sitting around the fire, until a few bugs had become attracted to the flowers Minho had picked on their walk out of the forest. Taemin had gotten out of his seat the second a fat honeybee buzzed by his ear, running to stand behind the barbeque. Minho immediately ran after him, trying to get Taemin to stop running.

“Stand still!” Minho urged, trailing behind Taemin.

Taemin giggled, stepping away from Minho as he spun around to face him. “No!” 

“Come on, just let me--”

“Bees are going to follow me!” Taemin interrupted, unable to hide his smile as he put up his palms in a weak display of self defense. 

Minho approached his boyfriend, taking Taemin’s raised hands in his own. “I won’t let the bees hurt you. I promise.” 

Taemin didn’t say anything. He stared at Minho, his eyes full of wonder and adoration.

Minho took his silence to mean that he’d won, and so released Taemin’s hands to pull the delicate ring of flowers he’d woven off from around his wrist. He placed it gingerly atop Taemin’s head, the pale purple and almost translucent, white blossoms glowing in the evening light. 

“There,” Minho declared, admiring his work. Though he was proud of the fact that he’d managed to weave together flowers to form a crown without ripping them to shreds, he was more captivated by the shy, smiling face of the person wearing it. 

Taking Taemin’s cheeks in his hands, he pulled Taemin closer, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. Taemin wrapped his arms around Minho’s torso, never wanting the moment to end.

Jinki pretended to not see the entire thing, but couldn’t help but smile, knowing that his friends had found happiness in each other. He exhaled slowly through his nose, a strange sense of pride filling his chest. 

“Jinki!” Jonghyun called as he bounded out from the back door. “You didn’t tell me you had a guitar!” 

Jinki looked over as Jonghyun came jogging up to him, the aforementioned guitar in his grasp. “Ah, yeah,” Jinki started, flipping over a burger, “I haven’t played that thing in years. I forgot I had it.” 

Standing so close to Jonghyun, Jinki tried to disregard just how strongly Jonghyun’s breath smelled of alcohol. He’d been wondering why empty beer bottles kept materializing inside the beer cooler.

Jonghyun settled down on a folding chair by the fire, strumming a few very out-of-tune chords. He hummed an off-key melody, tapping his foot along to his music. Kibum pulled his shirt over the lower half of his face, trying to hide his laughter. 

The next hour was spent eating the burgers Jinki had prepared and finishing off a large amount of the beer Minho had brought. They were too busy filling their stomachs to converse, enjoying the gentle music and sounds of their surroundings, content with each other’s company.

Once their appetites had been satisfied, the five remained by the fire, both the setting sun and the flickering flames painting them in a warm, orange glow. 

“Guys, guys,” Jonghyun exclaimed, leaning forward in his chair. He’d been drunkenly singing a song about seeing his reflection in an elevator door for about fifteen minutes, forgetting where the song had began and ended. “I wrote a poem on duh way here. Do ya wanna hear it?” The alcohol he’d consumed slurred his words. “Iss kina free form an a bih messy. Das okay?”

“Yeah, go for it,” Minho encouraged, giving Taemin’s shoulder a small squeeze with the arm he’d slung around him. 

“Sure,” Kibum replied, shrugging. 

Jinki smiled, nodding at Jonghyun.

Jonghyun grinned eagerly, pulling out his phone. 

He cleared his throat and began to read.

“They say love will make you do and think some crazy things. Is that true?” He paused glancing around the group. “Could I be another victim of this love madness? Could it be the reason for my twisted thoughts?” 

A heavy silence settled over the group, the sound of Jonghyun’s voice taking over the absence of noise. 

“I am not the only one who had thought and still does thinks dangerous things about the one they love. Why can’t my love just love me and only me? Why do I have to get hurt?” An air of urgency came forth in Jonghyun’s voice. 

Jinki’s brow creased in worry. 

“Why can’t he realize what’s right in front of him? Why won’t he stop ignoring my feelings and advancements towards him? Why can’t his two-faced, alter-ego lover just give me what’s mine?” Jonghyun’s voice cracked, a tear sliding down his cheek. “Why does he make it hard for me to the point that I want his blood on my hands?” 

A hard edge cut through his tear-thick voice. “Or is it me that hadn’t made my feelings clear? This tainted love will be put to the test soon. Will I get my love to confess his feelings towards me, or,” he coughed, wiping his cheeks, “or, will I turn out the be fool, caught in a one-sided love outside of a love triangle I don’t belong in? Will I end up with not the blood of one, but the blood of two on my hands, beneath the sky on this blue night?”

Nobody spoke after he’d stopped. 

There was a tension in the air, a tightness wrapped around all five of them, preventing them from so much as breathing too deeply. 

“Well, that was dark,” Kibum stated, his voice muffled by the beers he’d drank. 

Laughter from Minho and Taemin followed his words, and Jonghyun’s soft chuckles came just after. 

They lapsed back into quietude for a moment. 

“I feel lieh everyone’s gotta lover buh not me,” Jonghyun grumbled, kicking at the soil with the tip of his sandal. “Even thuh the bugs an’ stuff.”

Taemin reached over and patted Jonghyun on the shoulder. Jonghyun gazed at him, looking at Taemin in what appeared to be disbelief. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe he was genuinely shocked someone was comforting him. Onlooking the situation, Jinki couldn’t understand how Jonghyun would find the support of his friends, the people who’d known him forever, who’d been by his side through everything, shocking. 

“You’ll be okay, Jjong,” Taemin told him, giving him a sad smile. 

Jonghyun returned the expression, nodding, his eyes never leaving Taemin’s. 

“Hey, uh,” Jinki interjected, rising from his seat, “Why don’t we head inside? Hm? Before the mosquitoes come out.” 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Minho agreed, patting Taemin’s shoulder as he stood up. “Let’s head in then.”

“You guys go ahead,” Jinki called after them. He waited a moment, watching to see if Jonghyun would head inside last. “I just wanna…” His voice trailed off as he jogged up to Jonghyun, gently grabbing his friend’s elbow.

Jonghyun turned to Jinki, his eyes wide with surprise. He let Jinki lead him back to the grill, the others already inside, unable to question him. 

Concern was evident in Jinki’s expression. “Are you doing okay?”

Jonghyun looked at the ground. He didn’t say anything for a long while, the sound of the waves splashing lightly against the shore filling the silence. 

“Not really, to be honest,” he answered finally. “But, Taemin’s right,” he glanced up at Jinki before tilting his head up, looking into the sky, “I’ll be okay.”

Something wasn’t sitting right with Jinki, but he trusted Jonghyun, and he knew Jonghyun trusted him. He knew Jonghyun would come to him like he always did. He believed Jonghyun knew what he was doing. 

“You know I’m here if you--”

“I know,” Jonghyun interrupted. He patted Jinki roughly on the shoulder, “Thanks for always looking out for me.”

Jinki let out a half sigh, half laugh. “Don’t mention it. I just want you to be happy.” He saw Jonghyun looking at him intently. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, for all of you,” he gestured towards the cabin. 

Jonghyun nodded, sighing as he pressed his lips together in a muted smile. “Trust me, I’ll be happy soon.” His gaze briefly drifted to the cabin before returning to Jinki’s eyes. “Really soon.”

* * *

 

Jinki coughed, a dribble of his drink getting caught in the wrong pipe. It took him a minute, but he eventually cleared his throat, breathing heavily as he tried to relax again. 

The bar felt somehow more crowded than it already was. He felt the oppressive sensation that came with being in a room too small for the amount of people that were inside. 

It suffocated him.

It pushed him from one reverie to another.

He blinked, and was no longer at the bar.

* * *

 

_ One year ago _

He didn’t realize just how strong the scent of all of the blood would be.

The blood that had dried to his hands and his shirtsleeves didn’t smell so much anymore, but the blood that was still pouring out of Jonghyun’s lifeless body was incredibly pungent. 

Like burnt metal.

Like old pennies in his mouth. 

Jinki shuddered as he inhaled, getting to his feet. He slowly approached Jonghyun’s body, staring down at him, as if he’d wake up at any second.

He knew that wouldn’t happen, though somewhere inside, he hoped, he prayed that Jonghyun would just wake up. He willed everyone to just get up and be okay. He just wanted it to all be okay again. 

He didn’t even remember what that meant, what being okay meant, anymore, but he knew he wanted it. He knew it was better than this, whatever he was feeling then. 

It was the strangest form of empty agony. 

He felt nothing. He felt absent of himself, like he wasn’t inside the body that was gently trying to roll Jonghyun onto his back, hoping to stop all of his blood from leaving his body. 

He felt everything. He left like he was on fire. Everything was burning and aching and tearing him apart. 

He was a cosmic explosion, the collapsing of a dying star. 

He was turning into a black hole, a void, consuming and destroying who he once was. 

He wasn’t sure when he’d walked back into the cabin, but at some point, he realized he was standing in the common area, staring at a dark, drying bloodstain on his carpet. 

A part of him wondered how he’d ever clean the rug. Actually, that stain probably wouldn’t ever come out. He’d just get a new rug. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Why would he ever come back to the cabin again?

A part of him wondered how somebody who’d lost enough blood to leave that stain on the carpet was no longer there. They’d gotten up somehow. They’d ran. He knew it when he noticed the trail of thick, maroon droplets leading towards the kitchen. 

He didn’t want to follow it. Not yet. There was someone else he had to return to first, someone he'd made a promise to.

His legs carried him to the hallway between the stairs and the kitchen. At some point before he turned the corner, his vision grew blurry as tears began to drip past his waterline. 

He blinked, and he was beside Kibum. 

He blinked, and he was on his knees, his fingers tentatively brushing aside Kibum’s blood-soaked hair.

He blinked, and he was pulling his friend’s body into his arms, trying so hard to not see the massive gash that tore across Kibum’s throat.

“I came back for you,” he told Kibum. He needed Kibum to know he’d kept his word. 

He knelt there, cradling his friend’s body in his arms, not quite understanding how Kibum wasn’t there, within the body. 

He didn’t think he’d ever fully comprehend it. 

He hoisted Kibum into his arms, carrying him like he would have with his newlywed partner out the front door of the cabin. 

He wondered if it had been easy for Jonghyun to take Kibum’s life. It hadn’t been easy for him to take Jonghyun’s. Not in the slightest. And yet, Jonghyun had killed three people in the span of just a few hours. And yet, Jonghyun didn’t appear to spare an ounce of remorse for what he’d done. Not a sliver of pain or regret or suffering. 

He laid Kibum’s body down beside Jonghyun’s with care, wiping a tear that fell onto Kibum’s cheek away with his thumb. He whispered, “Sorry… I’ll be right back,” before leaving to return to the cabin. 

This time, he followed the trail of blood. It led him into the kitchen, a helpless moan getting caught somewhere between his lips and his throat as he caught sight of the brutal display that Jonghyun had left for him to find.

He saw Taemin first, since his body was closer to the entrance to the kitchen. 

Taemin was face down in a pool of his blood, a blossoming bloodstain clearly visible against the back of the formerly white shirt he’d been wearing. His eyes were shut, thankfully, so Jinki didn’t have to close them. 

Jinki crouched down into the puddle, having no other choice if he wanted to reach Taemin. His jeans were already soaked with both Kibum’s and Jonghyun’s blood. Taemin’s wouldn’t have any more of an effect than the others’ had had.

“I’m just gonna take you outside, and I’ll come back for Minho,” Jinki murmured, hoisting Taemin into his arms, exiting the kitchen. "You won't be alone anymore, Taem."

As he laid Taemin next to Kibum, he didn’t linger. Minho was still inside. It wasn’t right for him to separate Taemin from his boyfriend.

* * *

 

Jinki’s forehead thudded into the bar counter, hard, his hand losing grip of his head. The glasses near him clinked at the intensity of the impact.

He groaned, groggily rubbing his forehead. He realized his glass was no longer in front of him. 

Jinki scanned the counter, peering behind shoulders and around arms, not finding it.

“Hey buddy,” the bartender called, noticing Jinki searching for his glass.

Jinki looked in the direction of the voice, his eyes producing double images of the bartender. 

“I’m cutting you off. You should head home,” they told him.

It took him a moment to process the bartender’s words, but eventually they made sense to him. He felt himself nodding as he rose from the stool, the floor jiggling beneath his unsteady feet as he headed to the exit.

Jinki stumbled down the street, his legs threatening to give out at any moment. Upset with himself for getting so drunk, and upset with the bartender for not letting him get any more wasted, Jinki decided to take a shortcut through an alley to get home faster. 

The sooner he was home, the sooner he’d have access to another drink.

He hobbled into the alley, sighing aloud in blatant annoyance as he realized he wasn’t alone. 

A man, homeless, in a threadbare woolen sweater and a grey, knotted beard, paced in a sort of circular fashion a little ways down the alley. Jinki would have to get by him to get home, or he’d have to take the long way around.

Anger bubbled up within him at the idea of being inconvenienced any further. He wasn’t going to let anyone get in his way anymore tonight.

He could hear the man chanting “I don’t know why” as he got closer. 

Before he knew what was happening, the man was beside Jinki, gripping his arm. 

“Do you know why?” the man asked, shaking Jinki’s arm.

“No, let go!” Jinki hollered, tearing himself free. 

He blinked, and suddenly Kim Haesol was staring at him, mumbling “he knows why” in a hushed voice.

He blinked, and there was a homeless man before him.

He blinked, and Haesol was now closer.

He blinked, and he couldn’t tell the two apart anymore. 

“I don’t know why,” Haesol told him. 

Something inside Jinki broke.

“I don’t know why either!” He screamed, lunging at the owner of the voice. “Why did you let him kill everyone?!”

He straddled Haesol, grabbing his head in both his hands, twisting his arms to keep Haesol from latching onto him.

“You let Jonghyun do it!” He cried, slamming Haesol’s skull into the pavement. “Everyone is dead because of you!” 

“You fucking monster!”

He brought Haesol’s head down again. 

“You should’ve fucking stopped him!” 

Jinki let go of his head with one hand, cracking his fist across Haesol’s face. 

“You did this to me!” 

He beat him.

“You did this to me!” 

And again. 

“You did this!”

And again.

“You!”

And again, until the body beneath him stopped moving. Until breath no longer left their lungs. Until their heart no longer beat. Until there was not enough brain left intact to think. Until the face no longer looked like Haesol. It was too broken, too swollen, and bleeding in too many places to look much like anybody anymore.

In fact, Jinki came to realize, it never looked like Haesol in the first place.

The man he’d killed wasn’t Haesol. 

The paste-like, chunky mass of blood and brain matter that coated the street and his fists wasn’t Haesol.

He’d just killed an innocent. 

As the revelation sunk in, he felt himself screaming, wailing into his blood-slicked hands. 

It was the kind of crying that didn’t produce tears. It was just a constant, throbbing pain, a deep, stabbing ache that he felt everywhere and nowhere at once.

Nothing felt real.

All he knew was agony.

He wiped his face, glancing at the horrid mess he’d made of the homeless man, a sickening sense of familiarity striking him.

* * *

 

_ One year ago _

A guttural groan fled past his lips as he entered the kitchen for the second time.

He was hesitant to approach Minho.

Or what remained of Minho.

He kept hearing someone saying “no, no, no” over and over again, eventually coming to realize that it was his voice and that he was the one repeating the futile statement of denial.

He didn’t crouch or kneel next to Minho. 

He fell. He dropped to the floor, horrible, grating cries wracked his body as he felt his forearms growing wet with the blood that surrounded Minho. 

Minho didn’t look like Minho anymore. 

Where his face was supposed to be was a bloody pulp, a decimated mess of bone and flesh. Jinki couldn’t discern between tooth and eye socket, between jaw and cheek.

Minho wasn’t Minho anymore.

Jinki wasn’t Jinki anymore.

* * *

 

“Minho…” he heard himself moan, his face falling into his hands as he felt himself slipping into another memory.

* * *

 

_ Two years ago _

“Go, Minho!” Jinki cried, waving his sign that read the same statement in the air. 

He was attending one of Minho’s soccer games, the final match that would determine if his team won the league tournament or not. There were just four minutes left in the match and his team needed just one last goal to secure their win.

Minho sped past the bleachers were Jinki, Jonghyun, Kibum, and Taemin were seated together, all cheering as loud as their voices would allow. Jonghyun had his camera out, trained on Minho, capturing every moment of the game.

The four friends watched, their hearts racing in anticipation, as Minho gained control of the ball. He carried it easily with quick steps to the opposing team’s net, taking a running, powerful kick.

The ball soared in broad arc, straight past the goalie’s hands and into the net.

The bleachers erupted with the sound of cheering. 

Everyone got to their feet, spinning jerseys and scarves above their heads, hollering congratulatory remarks at the team as Minho did a victory lap around the field, eventually springing into the waiting arms of his teammates.

Jinki beamed, his voice going raw from all the cheering, but he didn’t mind. He was here to support his friend and he could be more happy to lose his voice if it meant Minho’s happiness.

* * *

 

Nothing felt real.

Jinki had somehow made it home, dripping blood, both the homeless man’s and his own, the whole way. 

He’d been lost in the past, his mind never in the same place as his body for very long.

It hurt too much to keep them together for too long.

But yet, even when he relished in the past, the past felt fake. 

His memories felt like facts, like passages of text he was told to memorize, to engrain into himself. It was as if someone had shown him snapshots of someone else’s life and told him to accept them as his own, to believe in them like he’d never believed in anything before, to trust in their validity. 

They didn’t feel real to him.

They didn’t feel like things he could feel, or had ever felt anymore.

As the seconds ticked by, Jinki felt more and more of himself fading away to places he’d never be able to retrieve them from.

* * *

 

He slammed the motel door shut, panting as he leaned against it. The knife in his waistband weighed his jeans down, his blood soaked hands slick against the wood behind him. 

Done. 

Done. 

It's done. 

The last is gone. 

He did it. 

His face broke into a smile, choking a laugh out between his breaths. His head fell forward into his hands, coating his face  and his hair in Norman's blood. 

He did it. 

Norman had been the last.

He did everything for his Everything. 

He glanced at the wall to his right, seeing the black holes that pockmarked it. 

Black holes and more black holes. 

Only one was in his way. 

Only one was left. 

Just the black hole. 

He felt his face cracking. 

His smile dying. 

He wasn't done yet. 

Hands snaked around his waist. 

The fingers of one crawled up his chest, under his shirt. The other began to unbutton his jeans.

“You did so well,” Jonghyun crooned, biting on his earlobe.

Jonghyun began to kiss down his neck, leading them away from the door and towards the bed.

“I’m so proud of you,” Jonghyun told him, sucking at the curve between where his neck ended and his shoulder began. “You won’t disappoint me now, will you?” He asked, emphasizing his words by shoving him onto the bed.

“No, never,” he assured Jonghyun, and he meant it.

He would do anything for him.

“That’s what I thought,” Jonghyun told him, smiling as he lowered himself onto him. “I think it’s time I reward you for all of your hard work.”

Jonghyun brought his lips down, kissing him roughly. 

They breathed against each other, their breaths mingling with their tongues, their saliva, their lips.

He felt himself smiling, realizing he and Jonghyun were about to be closer than ever.

This was what he'd been waiting for.

He would finally become one with his Everything.

* * *

 

Tired from their late-night activities, he rested against Jonghyun’s chest, counting his breaths as he slowly drifted to sleep.

133, 134, 135, 137.

He knows Jonghyun loves him. 

He knows. He knows.

146, 147, 148.

But as he laid there, listening to Jonghyun’s heartbeat, he remembered something.

Before, before it all, he remembered going to ask Jonghyun if he wanted to go get something to eat.

He remembered the sounds Jonghyun made, the way his hand had disappeared into his pants, as Jonghyun stared at his phone screen.

As he stared at a photo of Taemin.

He wanted to make Jonghyun feel the way those pictures had made him feel.

He knew he could make him feel much better.

He was better than photos.

199, 200, 201, 202, 203.

He knew now, though, that Jonghyun loved him. 

Jonghyun loves him.

He is Jonghyun’s.

Right?   


210, 211, 212, 213.

He shook Jonghyun gently, whispering his name.

“Hmm?” Jonghyun mumbled, his lips against his forehead.

“You love me, right?” He asked, his voice so quiet. He didn’t want to be too loud. He didn’t want to upset his Everything.

Jonghyun yawned, putting his arm around him as he rolled onto his side, facing him. 

“Of course,” he answered, his voice thick with tiredness, “You’re the only one I’ve ever really loved.”

Jonghyun pulled him close, placing a sleepy, soft kiss on his lips.

Every inch of him tingled.

He knew then, without a doubt, that just like Jonghyun was his Everything, he was also Jonghyun’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important! The poem that Jonghyun reads during the flashback was written by Krystal (@vocalisthyun on twitter)! I did make a few grammatical changes, but it's her work! I knew something was missing from the scene when I was writing it & she helped me out big time. Thanks a million, love.


	4. I'm Sorry

Chapter 4: I’m Sorry

He waited seven days before sending the letter, just as Jonghyun had told him to.

He'd do it right the first time. 

He’d do it right.

He had to.

He wore round sunglasses with lenses as black as his sweatshirt inside the post office. He hid his face from the security camera with a cap. He hid his worry beneath his tongue. He tucked away his fear in a knot somewhere deep in his stomach.

Just like he was told. 

He’d do it right. 

He had to.

He didn't waste time outside. 

He had to get back. 

He didn't want to leave his Everything alone. 

He didn't want to keep his Everything waiting.

And so ran. 

But not really. 

He couldn't, or people would stare.

So he walked. 

He walked and took a subway, then a bus, and walked some more. 

Inside he was sprinting. 

Inside he was running full speed down the sidewalks, through the pockets of people that littered the outside world, the world outside of his. 

This world was not his. He never was apart of it, not since he met Jonghyun. He left this world behind for one that welcomed him and treasured him as much as he treasured it.

His world was everything to him.

His world was his Everything. 

He didn't need anything else.

When he arrived back at the hotel, he let his inside out. 

He ran. 

He through the door and slammed it closed, locking it so that his world and the one outside wouldn't mix.

He didn't want to lose any of his world.

“That was fast.” 

He looked up and there he was.

His Everything.

Perfect.

He felt himself smiling before he could let himself find the words he was supposed to say out loud.

There were so many words inside that he didn't know how to let out. 

They pressed against his skull and tugged the corners of his mouth. 

They pulled him away from the door and into the arms of his Everything.

Perfect.

“Yes, you are,” Jonghyun breathed, suddenly beside him, pinning him against the door with his body. 

He’d spoken aloud. 

Oops.

Lips were on his neck. 

Sticky breaths brushed his skin.

“You’re beyond anything I could’ve ever hoped for,” Jonghyun told him.

And he found himself grinning, his head leaning back against the wood of the door, the feeling of hands and lips and sweat all melding together across his body. 

He blinked, glancing at the wall of black holes, and things that should have been, things that should have never been.

He blinked, and he remembered. 

He remembered sitting on a sofa in an apartment he bought with money from working long hours at a Wal-Mart photo centre, farther apart than he would have liked. 

“So you know what’s gonna go down?” Jonghyun had asked him.

He couldn’t forget that conversation. It was one of the few times when Jonghyun had come to him, to him, for help. 

He’d do anything for him.

He’d do anything for his everything.

He remembered nodding, the word, “yeah,” fleeting past his lips.

“Repeat it back to me,” Jonghyun urged, looking into his eyes.

He cleared his throat. “Jinki and the others are going on a retreat in a couple months, on a Friday. We’re going to wait until it’s dark out before we do anything.” He paused, looking at Jonghyun for permission to continue. Jonghyun nodded, and so he spoke. “You’re going to change into the outfit we bought while I stay in the car and call Minho to get him outside. You’re going to kill him,” he remembered the words feeling strangely heavy on his tongue, though in reality the words meant nothing to him, “and then come back to the car, and I’ll take us back to the city.”

“And then what?” Jonghyun pressed on.

He hated this part. 

He hated it then and he hated remembering it as Jonghyun’s hands were slipping below his waistband.

“And then,” he fought to keep his words clear of the contempt he felt clawing at his throat, “they’ll call you when they find Minho’s body in the morning. You’ll be there to comfort them, but mainly Taemin, and… yeah. You’ll get what you want.”

Jonghyun smiled, placing a hand on his knee. He remembered the heat and the weight of Jonghyun’s fingers through his jeans. “That’s right, that’s exactly right.” Jonghyun squeezed his knee endearingly before pulling away. “I couldn’t do it without you, Haesol.” 

He felt lips against his navel, warm and comforting against the unease he had brewing inside him. 

Just as he stopped remembering, he began again.

Jonghyun pacing in his apartment, his footfalls the only thing louder than Haesol’s heartbeat.

Jonghyun rubbing at the back of his neck, running his hands through his hair over and over again. 

Jonghyun muttering nonsensically under his breath, his brow beaded with sweat.

And suddenly, he stopped.

Jonghyun looked at him, and Haesol stood there, looking back. He waited patiently, his heart open, his lips parted.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Jonghyun choked out. He was clearly fighting off tears.

“I know,” Haesol replied, taking a step towards him.

“He wasn’t supposed to invite me!” He cried, slamming his palms against his thighs.

“I know,” Haesol told him, inching ever closer.

The silence that followed forced Haesol to step away, despite how much he didn’t want to.

When the silence broke, it was because both of them had broken it.

“What do I do?” Jonghyun asked.

“What if you faked your death?” Haesol posed simultaneously.

Jonghyun’s head shot up, his eyes wide. “What?”

Haesol licked his lips, his eyes darting away from Jonghyun’s expectant gaze before speaking again. “What if you staged your death? So it looked like the killer got you? Like I mean,” Haesol motioned to himself, then Jonghyun, “we look kind of the same. The outfit we got: it’ll fit me. We’re the same size. I can pretend to be the killer and fake kill you, and then we could swap clothes.” The words were pouring out of him faster than he could understand what they meant, what he was suggesting. “Then we do what we planned. I call Minho, but before you kill him, he sees your “dead body,”” he made the air quotes with his fingers, “and then we switch outfits.”

Haesol stopped, hoping Jonghyun would say something, but no words came, so Haesol provided more.

“And then about you being dead… uh…” His eyes drifted before snapping back to Jonghyun’s. “Oh! You just say you passed out, that the wound wasn’t too deep or something, or that you got spooked and thought if you played dead your chances of surviving would be better. And then when you realized the killer was gone, you went to go get help, but it was too late…” Haesol’s voice grew quiet as his words died down.

“Haesol…” Jonghyun started, approaching him, “You’re a genius!” 

Arms were wrapped around his shoulders before Haesol could register what was happening. 

He remembered the earthy, citrusy scent of the perfume Jonghyun wore. He remembered feeling the faint sensation of Jonghyun’s rapid heartbeat through their clothes. He remembered how hesitant he’d been to return the embrace, but in the end, he mustered up enough courage to do so, and he had cherished that feeling.

He carried the memory of being in Jonghyun’s arms with him to the cabin that night.

He carried it as he fled the city after losing Everything that mattered to him.

He blinked, and he was no longer remembering.

He blinked, and he was alone.

And then he was remembering again, but something else, something he didn’t want to remember. 

He remembered seeing Jonghyun’s broken, bleeding body on the gravel outside of Jinki’s cabin.

And he remembered, leaning against the door of his hotel room, that he was always alone.

His Everything had been taken from him.

He remembered. 

He remembered the black hole that stole him.

He had always been alone.

The hotel room had always been empty.

There had never been anybody there with him.

He was on his knees, screams tearing through his throat, his jaw aching with how long he’d kept it open for. His fingers ripped at his hair when his fists weren’t pounding against the tiled floor. His primal cries were morphing into sobs and back again.

Everything was wrong.

Everything was gone.

He was all alone.

Nothing.

Nothing.

And so he screamed, crying out for a man that could no longer hear him.

* * *

The beer bottle flew through the air, colliding with the wall above the television. It shattered, the sound like a gunshot in the otherwise silent bungalow.

Jinki stood between the sofa and the makeshift table, panting. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, his arms tense.

His face was speckled with the trails of dried tears and dried blood he couldn’t quite scrub away. He’d kept rubbing until his skin had become raw, until his fingers cracked and began to spill his own blood, but he still couldn’t get it all off.

He supposed it was meant to be, that he should have a reminder of what he’d done on him, with him, at all times.

He was punishing himself because he was too much of a coward to turn himself in. At least, not yet. Not when he still hadn’t done everything he needed to.

He collapsed back onto the sofa, where he’d been sitting on and off for the past week or so. The knife that had been mailed to him now rested on the table by his knees, next to a revolver with all of its chambers loaded.

He’d been sitting there earlier, a beer bottle in his hand, half awake, half asleep, staring at the off-white wall, when a hand began to emerge from it. Then another, and another after that. 

Their fingers were bent and spindly, like the legs of an arachnid. Their flesh was burnt, blackened and blistering with pus and rotten, red patches that plopped against the floor. Blood leaked from the opening that the hands had made, staining his wall with that rusty, maroon colour he hated.

His skin rippled with disgust, his stomach churning in terror as he watched the hands pulling themselves out of his wall. They used the flat surface as leverage, hoisting their forearms, then their biceps out. 

He looked down and saw a pair of hands scraping back his chest, pulling his body in half as they struggled to push out of his body.   
He screamed, immediately getting to his feet as he reflexively threw his bottle at the spot on the wall where the hands were.

The bottle had hit the wall, and Jinki had come to understand that what he’d seen had never been there to begin with. What he’d seen had likely been the product of too many sleepless nights mixed with guilt, alcohol, and far too many over-the-counter painkillers.

And so there he sat again, on the sofa.

He knew from watching the news that Haesol had finished with his commemorative killings. The notepad where he’d documented the names of all of the victims was lost somewhere in the sheets that he had balled up and shoved onto the farthest cushion of the sofa, or maybe it’d fallen onto the floor. He didn’t remember.

Not too long after, he’d gotten a letter in the mail. There’d been no return address.

The letter now sat on the table, in the corner, just above the revolver. He could read the message from where he sat, despite the dim lighting.

“Your cabin. Saturday. 4 AM.”

Below that was a large black circle, drawn with a thick marker, with a red X scratched through it.

It was Friday, 6:42 PM. He didn’t have that many more hours left until he had to get on a bus that would take him close enough to the cabin for him to walk and still make it there. He didn’t have a car anymore. He didn’t think he’d need it.

He knew what he had to do.

He had to end it. 

He didn’t care how, really, he just knew he had to go there, and… and something would happen. It would be over. He would atone for everything he’d done, and so would Haesol. Maybe there would be closure. He hoped so. Not only did he want it all to end, he wanted peace. He was tired of being tired because the moment he closed his eyes, he saw the faces of four people he’d been unable to protect. 

Along with the face of one more who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He wanted freedom from it all, but he knew that wouldn’t be possible. He’d move on someday, sure, but what had happened, what he’d done, weren’t the kinds of things that someone just left behind. It would always be a part of him, but he hoped somehow he would be able to set himself just far enough apart from those memories to be able to function the way he knew they’d want him to.

He could almost hear their voices, chiding him for letting himself go the way he had. He’d always been the one that had fought to keep them together, that had brought them together in the first place. He’d been the one to stay and help clean up after parties or stay sober on nights out to drive everyone home. This wasn’t who he was, and yet, he couldn’t be the person he was before either. 

He didn’t know who he was anymore.

He closed his eyes, letting his memories stir until they settled on one he hadn’t been expecting to recall.

* * *

The cabin was quiet, lacking the warmth and companionship Jinki had left behind in the city. The cabin was his getaway, his private sanctuary where he didn't have to worry about what his thoughts or actions meant. He could just live, unburdened by foresight, by consequence. 

  
And yet he wanted more.   
  
He sat by the large, picture window, the curtains drawn back. The sky outside was black and blue, radiant with the light of the stars, unhindered by the glow of the city.   
  
The moon was full, its light cold and distant. He resonated with the celestial body, seeing it as a faraway friend, a physical manifestation of what he was trying to pretend he didn't desire. 

Someday soon, he told himself, someday soon the moonlight would feel less lonely.

* * *

Jinki scoffed aloud, pulling himself out of the memory, his head lolling to the side, his eyes landing on the curtains he’d never opened since he’d moved into the bungalow.

Whenever he’d gone to his cabin in the past, he’d always been at war with himself. 

A part of him loved the solitude, the escape the dream-like estate provided him with. Another part of him wished for company, for somebody to be there to enjoy his private getaway with him. He felt incomplete, and so he invited the four closest friends he had.

Some good that had done.

Sitting on the sofa, his felt a wave of self-loathing wash over him, constricting him throat, making it hard for him to swallow. 

He’d been selfish for wanting his friends to come with him.

If he’d gone alone, like always, things wouldn’t have changed. If he’d gone alone, like always, nobody would be dead. 

He didn’t want to let himself think it, but he could hear himself, inside his head, reminding himself that he was at fault for gathering them all there. He was the reason that things had turned out the way they had.

But, then again, he didn’t know that. He didn’t know if Jonghyun would have done what he’d done at a different time on a different day if Jinki hadn’t held that get together.

Jonghyun.

He didn’t see it when Jonghyun needed help. He couldn’t pick up on Jonghyun’s intentions when it’d been the most crucial for him to do so.

He’d failed Jonghyun. He’d failed them all. He’d failed himself.

He glanced at the clock on the opposite side of the room.

6:52 PM.

Whatever had happened, whatever he’d failed to do in the past, he knew he couldn’t fail now. He had to make it up to them.

He wouldn’t give in anymore.

He would fight, and he would win.

He had to.

Not for him, but for them.


	5. Let Me Out

Chapter 5: Let Me Out

The world is toneless, void of colour. Jinki was blind to the deep green of the densely packed leaves behind him, suspended in twisted branches reaching high into the cloud filled sky. He didn’t see the brown of the bark, or the washed out shadow that trailed behind him has his boots crunched along the gravel pathway. Jinki’s world was grey, as was the dawn, absent of anything comforting or familiar. He may have been approaching a place he knew far too well, but it was as foreign to him as the colours he didn’t see.

Heavy. Everything was so heavy. His jeans were weighed down on one side by a revolver, the other by an old knife. His chest was heavy, aching in a way that made him want to drop to his knees with every step. He continued to force one foot in front of the other, the sound of his footfalls against the gravel almost as muted as the colours of the environment. He felt as if someone had their fist clenched around his heart, preventing it from beating. It had stilled and become a dead weight inside him, longing for things he couldn’t put into words.

He longed for the late night Skype calls that he’d have with Kibum. He longed for the silence that would follow Kibum’s words once he’d ran out of things to tell him. He longed for the quiet words of gratitude Kibum would share with him on nights when nobody but him would pick up the phone. He longed to picked up the phone.

He longed for the piles of Kleenex that would litter his living room whenever he invited Jonghyun over to watch a movie. He longed for the tear stains that would refuse to fade from his cushions, for the sniffling he’d hear as he tried to turn his laughter into sympathy. He longed for the small blurbs of words Jonghyun would string together on napkins, leaving them around his apartment. He longed for napkins.

He longed for the cold that would settle into his bones from standing out in the rain, cheering Minho on as his soccer team fought for victory. He longed for the strange, sweaty smell Minho would bring back into his car on their way to dinner. He longed for the drinks that Minho would have too many of, spurring him to thank Jinki for never missing a single game. Jinki longed for the rain.

He longed for the endless questions Taemin seemed to have for him. About what Minho liked, about happiness, about food, Taemin would come to him, and he did his best to give him an answer. He longed for the soft laughter that followed recounts of nights Taemin had spent with Minho. He longed for the smile he couldn’t see, but only heard in his friend’s voice. 

He longed for the voices of four people who could no longer speak.

Inside, he became as grey as the world he trudged through. All sensation worth experiencing drained away, siphoned from his flesh into the achromatic area. The farther along down the gravel he walked, the less of him remained. He became a carcass, as vacant as the forest he trekked through.

And then he saw it.

Dull and probably brown, the cabin appeared on the horizon, the tree trunks parting as he neared it.

On the gravel out front was a deep, rusty patch, as wide as a van was long. 

A tear slipped past his waterline, tracing his cheek in a thin, chilly stream.

He stopped just in front of the stain, tears falling like the rain that wouldn’t from the clouds above him. He made no sound, and neither did the forest, or the lake. The silence enveloped him, tugging him gently until his knees touched the gravel and thick, choking sobs forced their way out of his throat.

* * *

Late.

He was late.

He wasn’t supposed to be late.

“It’s okay,” Jonghyun tried, but he wasn’t listening.

He was supposed to be early. 

He was supposed to be there.

He was late.

“Just sneak up on him,” Jonghyun urged him, “It’ll be easier to kill him that way.”

He stopped.

As always, his Everything was right about everything.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “I’ll sneak up on him.” He nodded. “Yeah, yeah.”

And so he kept walking.

He kept walking until the trees opened up and then he stopped.

He stopped.

He stopped his breaths so that he didn’t make any noise.

There, on the stones, on his knees.

There, making ugly sounds he shouldn’t be allowed to make. 

There was the black hole.

It was time.

It was finally time.

He would set things right.

He would make it up to his Everything.

He had taken everything from that black hole and it was time to take the black hole itself.

* * *

He’d become so numb to everything, including his own body in the few seconds that he didn’t hear the thundering footfalls of somebody, somebody full of rage, running full speed towards him. He didn’t feel it when their body slammed into his, throwing them both over in a tangled mass of limbs and grunting.

They went sprawling across the gravel, Jinki with his back pinned to the stones as somebody knelt over him, one of their knees holding on his chest holding him place.

He saw the sweat beading on Haesol’s forehead, his eyes wild, glaring down at him. 

He had no time to process the situation any further before Haesol’s fist made contact with his face.

Haesol was relentless. He throws punch after punch, his knuckles cracking against Jinki’s cheeks, eyes, and nose. His head lolls left and right, occasionally coughing out bloody spittle from his now split and bleeding lip.

He tried to fight. He tried to block some of the blows, or roll Haesol off of him, but it’s all to no avail. What strength he had left was now leaking from the corners of his mouth, and the gash he could feel burning on his forehead.

He didn’t plan to make it out of this anymore.

* * *

He uses his hands to try and make the black hole match the image he had in his head.

A big, gaping hole where nothing should be because he is nothing.

Nothing.

He deserves nothing but nothingness.

And so he tried.

Behind him, he could hear the voice of his Everything, calling out to him.

“Harder, you have to hit harder or he’ll get up! Knock him out then slit his throat!”

He listens but he doesn’t.

He doesn’t change what he’s doing

He did this and he would end this his way.

His way.

For his Everything.

He continued and as he did he remembered.

He didn’t want to.

Not now.

But he remembered.

And soon he couldn’t stop remembering.

He remembered squatting, hunched, behind the overlapping trunks of a few massive trees, just at the edge of where the gravel ended and the forest began.

He remembered seeing the black hole emerge from the tree line, calling the name of his Everything.

He remembered seeing them speak.

He doesn’t remember what they said.

Then, the moment.

One he wished he could not remember.

He remembered sitting on the floor of his hotel room, smacking his fists and books and cups against his head so that he might forget. He hit so hard trying to forget but he couldn’t.

It wouldn’t go away.

He was forced to remember.

The look on Jonghyun’s face as the blade had entered his chest.

The way he fell, crumpling like a wet sheet of paper.

The way he stopped moving, his blood blossoming like the watercolours he used to play with as a child.

He remembered.

And suddenly he wasn’t remembering anymore.

He was looking down at the swollen, disfigured face of the black hole.

He brought his fist down again.

“That’s for Jonghyun!”

And again.

“That’s for taking him from me!”   
And again.

“That’s for killing him!”

And again.

But this time, his hand doesn’t connect.

Or it does, but not with the face.

* * *

Jinki somehow managed to capture Haesol’s fist in one of his shaky palms.

He doesn’t hesitate any further.

He brings up his free hand, grabbing the back of Haesol’s shirt. Using all the force he can, he yanks the collar backwards, forcing Haesol off of him. 

In the moments that followed, he moved faster than he thought he was capable of. 

He was up on his feet, falling forward onto Haesol, battering his own fists down upon Haesol in a much more rapid succession than Haesol had. He heard this sound, this horrible, piercing sound, coming from somewhere below him. It took him another minute to realize that the sound was coming from his own mouth. He was screaming, wailing as he punched Haesol in the stomach, kicked him in the ribs, cracked his fist across his face.

Haesol didn’t just take it, so his victory was short lived.

Jinki blocked Haesol’s arm with his own, uppercutting Haesol’s jaw. Haesol, on his knees, dove at Jinki’s legs, but Jinki stepped out of the way, stomping down on Haesol’s back instead. Haesol rolled on to his back, grabbing Jinki’s leg in both of his hands before he pulled. Jinki crashed onto the gravel, small pinpricks of blood appearing on the sleeve of his button down from where the rocks had pierced his skin.

Each time they fell, they got back up. Neither one of them stayed on the ground for very long. Despite how weary their legs grew and how much fresh blood was spilling onto the stones, neither one of them let up. 

They were both on a mission, and neither one of them wanted to fail, though, both did want it to stop. Not to die, not to lose the altercation, just for everything to freeze, to undo, to never be the way it was to lead them to the moment they were in.

* * *

Standing across from one another, on separate ends of the gravel path, Jinki and Haesol faced each other.

They were both panting, their chests heaving with breaths that ached more than the wounds that littered their flesh. Tears stained both of their faces, both shed for different reasons that ultimately were exactly the same. They were both bleeding from cuts not nearly as deep as the ones they carried inside, the ones that had drove them to their own respective forms of madness, the ones that had bled them dry in a different sort of way.

And then they were running, sprinting towards each other. It was like a modern day joust. 

They collided, the impact throwing them in opposite directions, rolling across the stones. They laid there, breathing in the grit and blood and exhaustion that polluted the air. Despite the clouds, despite the almost icy wind, they were both suffocating in a humidity of their own creation.

Jinki was the first to attempt to right himself, and also the first to speak.

“Why…” He began, only to stop as he realized how muffled his voice was. He shifted, turning onto his side, facing Haesol, who was on his back, his head turned the other way. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because…” Haesol’s head fell to the other side, his eyes meeting Jinki’s. “You took Everything from me.” 

“I…” He paused, coughing as something became caught in his throat, “I would have died that night had I not done what I did.”

“You should’ve died,” Haesol called back, his voice echoing hollowly through the still, grey landscape. “It should’ve been you, not him.” 

“You’re right,” Jinki resigned, and he meant it, “I should’ve died that night, and Jonghyun should have lived. He should have gone to jail and been forced to remember what he did to all of us. He got off easy.” Jinki prepared to lift himself from the ground as he spoke. “I mean, look at us. Look at where we are. Look at what we’ve done.” He propped himself up on his forearm. “We’re murderers. We’re no better than he is.”

“Shut up!’ Haesol screeched, battering his fists against the stones on either side of him. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! He was hurt! He wanted to be happy and I was helping him and you ruined everything for us!”

“Us?” Jinki was sitting, his forearms resting on his knees as he caught his breath. “Haesol, there is no “us” or “we” when it comes to people like Jonghyun. He used you. He used you because he knew how much you cared about him. He wanted something, yeah, but whether or not you were there in the end when he got it didn’t matter to him.”

Haesol was on his knees, leaning forward onto his palms. His face was scrunched, thick, warm tears streaking down the patches of dried blood along his cheeks. “You’re wrong! You don’t know anything! You didn’t know him like I did! You didn’t know him like I did!”

“I knew him for years before you did!” Jinki roared back, swiping his hand angrily along the gravel, throwing a few in Haesol’s direction. “I knew him for my entire life! How the fuck do you think this makes me feel, huh? Do you know how fucked up it is to find out that your best friend was planning to kill you? No! No, you don’t and you’ll never understand that kind of betrayal because that bastard isn’t alive anymore to show you what that feels like!” Jinki broke down into sobs, his face falling into his grimy palms. “And it’s all my fault. He’s dead because it’s my fault, and Minho and Taemin and Kibum are dead because I couldn’t stop him.” He sniffled loudly, lifting his head from his hands. “And you didn’t stop him either.”

“Why would I? Why would I?!” Haesol retorted, “I wanted to help him with whatever he wanted, no matter what. That’s what friends do!”

“He wasn’t your friend! He was a liar and a manipulative psychopath! Why can’t you see that?” Jinki cried.

“Why can’t you see that you did this,” Haesol slapped the side of his head repeatedly, “to me! You made me like this!”

Jinki recalled then, a few weeks back. He remembered being in a dark, rank alley, beating the life out of a man that had merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time, screaming those same words: you did this to me.

“No!” Jinki fought, “No! Jonghyun did this to you, and he did this to me! He made me kill him! If he hadn’t tried to kill me, if he hadn’t killed Taemin and Kibum and Minho, he would still be alive! They would all still be alive and you wouldn’t be like this! I wouldn’t be like this!” He beat one of his palms against his chest, not feeling the sensation at all. 

Panting, Jinki got to his feet. “Look,” One of his knees gave out, but he regained his composure. “I don’t know what Jonghyun promised you, I don’t know any of that, but I do know that he lied. No matter what it was, it was a lie.”

Haesol was also standing by that point, his shoulders rounded with the weight of fighting Jinki’s words. 

Haesol looked to his right, to the empty air. “You didn’t lie to me, right?” 

Jinki watched, confused. There was nobody there.

“You heard him!” Haesol hollered, “He didn’t lie! I knew he’d never do that! How could you say that about him?”

Haesol began to approach Jinki, the blade of a knife he hadn’t seen before glinting from his hand.

A realization dawned on Jinki.

Haesol was hallucinating. He was talking to a Jonghyun that wasn’t there, that had never been there. Whichever Jonghyun Haesol had trailing behind him now wasn’t the one that had grown up alongside Jinki. Haesol’s Jonghyun was of Haesol’s creation, and likely didn’t reflect who Jonghyun was at all. Thinking that, Jinki couldn’t even say he knew who Jonghyun really was. If he had truly known his friend, he doubted that the murders would’ve happened at all. He doubted Haesol would be standing two feet from him, seething with rage.

Jinki felt the heaviness of the gun in his waistband.

He didn’t think. He just moved, and suddenly the gun was in his hands and pointed between Haesol’s eyes. 

Haesol wasn’t paying attention to Jinki or his gun. His attention was on the fingers that gripped his shoulders, the breath he felt on his ear. 

“I’m so proud of you, you know that right?” Jonghyun crooned. “You’ve done everything I wanted, and you did it perfectly. You are my everything, Haesol.” 

Haesol turned his head slightly, the corners of his lips lifting as a soft smile replaced his expression of anguish. 

“Haesol,” Jonghyun continued, “Haesol, I need you to kill him. Now. Can you do that for me, hm?” Jonghyun’s fingers clenched Haesol’s shoulders. 

Haesol nodded, ignoring Jinki, ignoring everything except his Everything.

“Yeah, yeah I can do that. I’ll do that. Anything for you,” Haesol assured Jonghyun. 

Haesol was lost in his lover’s eyes, unable to hear, unable to think. Naturally, he didn’t hear the subtle “click” that followed Jinki releasing the safety on the revolver.

He should shoot. Jinki knew that. He knew he should shoot, but he was hesitating. Something was holding him back. The timing wasn’t right. He just couldn’t.

“Haesol, I love you,” Jonghyun breathed. 

Haesol’s smile widened, his eyes lighting up with a hopefulness that everything would be okay because his Everything would be okay.

“I love y--”

A loud “pop” interrupted Haesol’s words. 

The bullet sailed clean through his skull, entering through Haesol’s left eye, exiting out the back of his head. A small spray of blood erupted from the entry point, the force of the shot kocking Haesol’s head back as he collapsed to the stones below.

The large pool of blood forming around Haesol’s body was five feet from the one Jonghyun’s body had made. Even in death, they weren’t to be together. 

As soon as Haesol’s body hit the ground, so did the revolver. The sound of it clattering against the gravel was almost louder than the gunshot itself. Jinki’s legs could no longer support him. He fell to his knees, his palms outstretched as he looked down, watching small streams of Haesol’s blood weaving around the rocks.

If there had been any other way, he would've used it. Anything aside from adding another death to his hands, but there wasn't such a thing. It was his only option if he wanted to live, and now, like then, he would suffer.

His breathing was laboured, his chest burning in a different way from the many open cuts and scrapes on his body. His breaths became more shallow as his lips pulled into an empty grin. That grin was devoid of all feeling, of all meaning that was supposed to be attached to it. It was not his own. It was a mask. It gave way to a different one as his breaths deepened, escaping past his lifeless lips in deep, rumbling laughter. The sound was helpless, like a bird trapped in a room with no oxygen. 

It’s over, he thought to himself, it’s finally over.

“It’s over,” he said aloud, unsure of when he’d began to voice his thoughts. “It’s finally over.”

His laughter died, making way for sobs as heavy as he felt. His palms lifted from the ground, gripping each other as he folded his arms and his tightly clasped hands into his chest. His head fell forward, his body rounding around his arms, his hands pressed to the centre of his chest. There was an ache there, a pain he couldn’t quite describe. It was different from when Kibum and Minho and Taemin had died. It was different from when he’d killed Jonghyun. 

It was different because it meant he was free, and he didn’t want to be. 

It wasn’t fair for him to be the only one alive without the only people that had mattered to him. 

He’d wondered, in the past, if he’d ever receive any punishment for his actions. As he knelt there, he realized he’d already been punished. Living was the price he had to pay. Somebody had to remember what had happened. Somebody had to bear the burden of the memories, and the gnawing guilt and agony that came with them. That was his punishment. That was his consequence.

The sky began to open up, frigid drops of rain soaking into the back of his shirt and the back of his head. The rain came down, hesitantly, like it was waiting for him to give it permission to continue. 

As his tears became more frequent, so did the rain. As he coughed out choking, scratchy cries, the clouds thundered, causing the earth below him to vibrate. 

Jinki’s white shirt, now bloodstained and torn, turned grey in the downpour, matching the hue of the sky. He mimicked the clouds with his tears and his coughs.

In that moment, he was no longer Jinki. 

In that moment, he became the dawn.

_The End_   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grey Dawn is officially over! Though, the series, The Daylight Cycle, is not. A third installment will follow, but it will not be quite what you think. It will be less painful, but also just as much in a different way. It'll bring the closure you need. The plot is entirely written by the lovely creator who wrote the thread this whole series is based off of, Krystal aka vocalisthyun on twitter. I've decided to title it Black Moon and it will launch later on. I'm currently working on a mystery game by the same title on twitter which will be launched on August 1st, so if you wish to participate in that, my twitter is @ TaeminWithAGun. Thank you so much for reading and thank you for supporting this series despite how painful it is. Thank you thank you thank you, and see you in the next installment.


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